Just Once More
by iamCAMBRIA
Summary: ONESHOT. Bilbo remembers the day he'd been asked who Thorin Oakenshield was. He remembered, how when the great king died, he'd never said goodbye. It made him think, of how he hadn't felt the need to say goodbye. But now...if only he'd just once more to see his friend-his brother.


**_A/N: I own nothing_**

**_I hope this can hold you guys off from my other stories until I get time to write a proper chapter. I couldn't resist this. So many feels in the 3rd movie that weren't delved into. So I delved into them:) As always, THANK YOU FOR READING!_**

_Just Once More_

**By: iamCAMBRIA**

_"He was my friend…"_

_ Frodo, more than I can say, these words have haunted me every day of my life. I could have said "he was a great man" or that "he was the true King under the Mountain" or even…well, it doesn't matter. I do believe, that, at the time—his death was just far too fresh within the recess of my mind. I could still see his lips trembling as he told me to return home…to the home of comforts. A home he never got the privilege to see again. His people received as a gift his greatest desire. And all I could do was watch him shudder out a last breath. I didn't say goodbye, he fled from this world far too fast for me to mourn. I sat there, praying the eagles, Gandalf—anyone would heal him. To bring him back. But, all I could keep through my journey home to the Shire, is the farewell and his parting of friendship he left behind for me. In the end, Thorin Oakenshield succumbed to his humility, and he saw err. He admitted friendship to a humble Hobbit, which quite frankly was more than any Baggins could ask for. So, my dear Frodo, take not these friends within this life for granted. For, the road calls, either deeper into this life or into the next and we never know when that road will fork to form separate paths for those whom we care about."_

Bilbo set down his pen carefully, looking at the paper at the end of his story. He prayed that his nephew would bother to at least look at it. If not, then maybe the lad would never have to imagine the sorrowful goodbye of the Hobbit and the Dwarf. But, he hoped that Durin's heir would live on in the memories of not just the Dwarrow but also the Hobbits. Because, just as much as he himself was the friend of Mahal's kind, Thorin was friend of Yavanna's children. Closing the book, Bilbo stored it away for later. Frodo would be able to read it soon enough.

**0~o~0**

The beautiful dawning sun glittered over the sapphire ocean. Bilbo leaned heavily on the side of the boat, gazing out at Sam, Pippin, and Merry. Gandalf stood beside him, a comforting hand weighing heavily and steadily upon his shoulder. Frodo tread up the gangplank of the Elven ship with almost a chipper skip. He smiled regally at Bilbo and for a moment, the old Hobbit saw the bright blue eyes of another. Shaking his head, he turned around to look at the sun-gilded horizon.

_He's gone._ He forced himself to remember. _Probably feasting within the Halls of Mahal, being as stubborn and old-goated as he was before. I can practically see it, 'pass me the mead, lest I declare a challenge upon my ability to hold my liquor'! _

"Uncle."

Bilbo looked to the side, Frodo helping Elrond left the ramp and place it aboard the vessel.

"What do you believe the Undying Lands to be?" His nephew asked.

The elder tilted his head back and thought ponderously. "Well, a beautiful place where there is no age or time, no sorrow or pain, simply a gilded peace of light and joy. Running, dancing, laughing, and good food is what I believe them to be."

Gandalf chuckled, muttering "Ever the stout Hobbit."

Frodo chuckled a little and gazed out further. "How long do you think it'll take us?"

"However long the Valar deems fit, Master Frodo." Elrond answered, tilting his head back.

Galadriel nodded from her elegantly seated position near the side. "The Valar will know when our time comes for us to depart from this world."

"Will it hurt?"

Galadriel's husband looked over fondly at the young Hobbit. "No, t'will not hurt us. As your uncle phrase it, it shall be 'another adventure'."

Gandalf yawned slightly. "Does not the lull of the waves make you the slightest bit sleepy?"

Elrond nodded, his eyes seemingly weary. "Indeed, old friend. It is the song of the sea singing to us."

Bilbo smiled sitting against the wall of the boat, he rested his head against the back of the wood. It smelled of Rivendell—to wood sweet and smoky all at once. Yet it appealed to the senses with a nectar thick scent. It reminded him of pines and pipes and the singing of old friends among a fire.

Frodo sat by his uncle's side, his head leaning against the side of Bilbo's arm. The older Hobbit blinked owlishly before returning his attention to the Elves and the Wizard. The elders murmured softly in Quenyan and Sindarin. Their tongues slurring the words together in a drunkenly slow stupor. Bilbo strained his ears to recognize the sounds. To his mild surprise, he found himself finding words like the Khuzdul from the Dwarves. In his mind, he could very distinctly remember the lessons which Dori, Ori, Bifur and Bofur, and Balin taught him some of their secret language.

Gently he mouthed the few words he knew, the foreign syllables rolling off his tongue in strange ways. Soon enough, he found his tongue thick and heavy—swollen. Now mouthing the words, he continued to repeat them, allowing no sound to pass. Just fond memories of those fallen.

One by one, they began to fall asleep.

_I wish, just once more, I could see Thorin—so that I would give him a proper farewell…one fit for a king._

And Bilbo's eyes too, shut softly, into a gentle slumber he fell.

It wasn't until he felt the pitter-patter of rain on his nose that he awoke. His nose twitching that familiar rabbit way, Bilbo opened his eyes. They sparkled with awe as he realized he no longer rested on the boat.

A forest stretched for miles and miles, the pine needles made of soft emerald jewels. The flowers on the ground seemingly made of floating water. The grass billowed and fluttered like the softest down of a bird. But the sky, the sky glowed like a gilded lily. Liquid drops fell from the sky and onto the tree needles, decorating them with splatters of twinkling gold. Bilbo looked down at his hands, which too held droplets, to notice that they held no blemish caused by aging. Gazing into the tiny speckles, he could just barely make out the contour of his face. To his surprise it looked young and full. His hair curled and brown like when he'd been in his prime. Bilbo's nose twitched again as another amber drop fell onto his nose.

"A beautiful place, is it not?"

Looking up unhurried, Bilbo's hazel eyes lit up with joy as he recognized the owner of the voice.

_Regal_. The first word that entered his mind was regal. He stood tall, decorated in what could only be described as the bluest of Durin blues. The fur that blanketed his shoulders seemed to flow, as if suspended under water. And his dark ebony hair curled as if had been made for just a king and only a king—not just a wandering blacksmith. But the eyes, the eyes that glittered profusely with amiable hope warmed Bilbo's heart more than anything.

His friend.

His brother.

Thorin smiled, reaching his arms out. "Bilbo!"

The Hobbit practically jumped up and threw himself at the Dwarf, the happiest of smiles lighting over his face. The tears that welled in his eyes were not those of sadness. The pureness of his joy overwhelmed him and through no other way, could he express himself.

The Dwarf shushed the Halfling, holding him close as a father might hold a son—cradling him gently as if a breakable piece of quartz. "There, there my dear Hobbit…"

"The eagles came, Thorin." Bilbo whispered. "They did."

Thorin smiled, stroking the Hobbit's down hair. "I know. I know they did. I could see your actions from the Halls of Waiting. You were very, very, very brave _nadâd_."

"I wasn't trying to be brave," Bilbo admitted, muttering in the fur of Thorin's clothes. "I just wanted you to stay with me. To not leave me. I was so silly, that I did not get to say goodbye to you, my friend."

The Dwarf pulled away, an amused grin coating his face. Before, Bilbo had known the king to wear nigh but a frown except on the rarest occasions. And yet, with a nicely trimmed beard bordering it, his smile seemed so natural and real.

"How long 'til you must return to Mahal's Halls?" Bilbo wondered.

Thorin laughed and shook his head. "Dear Hobbit, the halls of Yavanna, the Valar, and Mahal are one in the same. We shall not be separated this time."

Bilbo blinked his eyes, not quite understanding.

The Once-was King Under the Mountain shook his head with a smile. "Come, your companions are waiting."

"Frodo?" The Hobbit asked, hope lilting his voice.

"All of them." Thorin nodded, taking his brother's hand and leading the way through the jeweled forest. He looked sideways, a twinkle in his eyes. "Not just the ones you sailed with."

A child's joy could not be compared with the Hobbit's. "Does that mean—?"

The Dwarf nodded. "Everyone.

The Hobbit laughed, his voice cracking just a bit. The Dwarf king joined him, his smile widening and the sides of his eyes crinkling just a bit as he chuckled happily. They'd both waited a long time for this moment to come.

And just once more, the two began the next journey.

Just once more, _everyone_ would be together.


End file.
